


To Be Buried In His Pelt

by I_Will_Disappear



Series: Puppies [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Will_Disappear/pseuds/I_Will_Disappear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You can play wolf, you can play pretend in wolves clothing, as he stalks you. Just one flash in his direction has him running. You just want to rest; in his arms, his scent, his life, maybe your grave. Tomorrow you will wear pelt, but for now you mourn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Buried In His Pelt

It will be a blow to your chest, sharp and painful. Something you hope to never live through, but will inevitable have to push through.

He can crowd you into corners and up against anything he wants to really, and you will let him.

He does it to intimidate you, to frighten you, to push you away.

You just shiver, meet his eyes and shout until he tells you to shut up, or look away and arch into to him, neck bared to his flashing eyes.

You can intimidate him too.

He will back off and you will move forward and watch him move away.

One step forward, two steps back.

You like to play with him, you know he won’t stop coming.

You try to time it right; really it’s hit or miss with him, but sometimes it’s a perfect hit.

He’ll climb through your window and stop short when he finds you.

Sometimes you’re changing shirts, or slipping pants on over nothing but skin.

Sometimes, and you love these times the best, he steps half way in and watches as you move your hand up and down.

Watches as you moan his name and your breathe hitches, watches you relax into the sheets, then leaves.

You cry sometimes, when it becomes too much.

Scott and Allison are too much, Jackson and Lydia and Danny are too much.

You think that you will never be happy, because it is a fact.

You cry when you are faced with it, with him, with yourself.

Filled with loathing and fear; you wonder if this is what your father had to go through when your mom passed.

You hope that he stays away when you do cry.

Hope he never has to see you; that he won’t have to see how deep the hurt runs, cuts, tears at you.

He has had enough loss to be numb and get by.

You feel like you can never be there, that you can never be enough, because he won’t allow you to.

Maybe you can slide between your sheets with nothing on, let him slide in next to you. You hope he would still hold you close in your sleep. You hope he will kiss your   
shoulder and lick at your neck.

You hope he would love you like you ache for him to.

You wish you could press closer and hide with him, just want to hide beneath his scent and be happy.

You know your place though; you know that you are nothing without him, that you hold nothing of worth, that you are nothing of worth.

You think that maybe you make a horrifyingly beautiful sight when he slips through your window, knocking you from you wrenching fantasies.

You probably look a mess, all tear stained and crumpled on the bed, like someone cut your strings and let you fell.

Fell unprotected and soft flesh to sharp rock below.

He just stands there looking at you, watching as you watch him, and you are right.

He looks shocked, a flash of hurt on his face before it disappears and you know.

You turn into yourself, let the tears fall and let silent sobs wreck you. 

He has left you again, to yourself, to be on your own, without him.

You are alone, the window left open in his hast.

You are on your own, left to your human ways, to be soft and easy flesh.

Tomorrow you will drag yourself up, beat yourself up.

Tomorrow there will be no sign of your sobbing.

Tomorrow you will pull on the pelt you have made yourself.

Tomorrow you will go on playing pretend.

Tomorrow you will be pack omega.

Tomorrow you will wear your pelt.

Tomorrow you will be left.

Again and again.

When you will be buried in the warmth of your pack, into his side like he actually wants you there. 

Like you mean something to him, like he wants you to mean something, like he loves you.

Tomorrow you will be buried in your pack.

You think dimly, blacking out then in and out again, that if you die, you want to be wrapped in him.

You want to be buried in his pelt.


End file.
